


thoughts of a firestarter: shadow's oneshot collection

by ShadowAphelion



Category: Don't Starve (Video Game)
Genre: Domestic, F/M, Hurt/Comfort, One Shot Collection, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Triumphant Willow - Freeform, Triumphant Wilson - Freeform, forge - Freeform, return of them
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-05-03
Updated: 2020-02-15
Packaged: 2020-02-16 12:49:30
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 19
Words: 19,507
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18691828
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ShadowAphelion/pseuds/ShadowAphelion
Summary: Misc drabbles and one-shots that revolve mostly around willowson and lots of different aus.





	1. every king needs a queen

**Author's Note:**

> Figured I should repost some of my tumblr works onto ao3 so that they wouldn't get lost there forever. The first couple are going to be reposted from my account (tantum-tenebris) but I will also be eventually posting new ones here. Enjoy!

The fire flickers and dances on the Queen’s palm, inky and black like shadows. **  
**

It’s unlike her to favor darker fires in place of her usual brighter, prettier ones, but she insists that the throne has only opened her mind to newer changes.

Wilson feels that he’s mastered his dark, twisted power. He has all the knowledge he could ever need, or want. He controls shadows with the flick of his wrist and summons beings to his very will.

There’s nothing left to learn, but the thing inside him is still craving more.

His beloved still thinks him an idiot. There she is now, giving him a side-eyed glance that could only mean she wants something from him.

Willow could have anything she’d ever wanted. He would give it to her in a heartbeat.

“Yes?”

“Oh, nothing! I was just wondering why you’re wasting your time, is all.”

Willow is tapping her cheek in thought. She has an adorably evil smirk that he knows all too well.

His brows furrow. “Wasting my time? I don’t understand, my love.” He tsks. “I’m merely building suspense!”

Wilson’s in charge of the beasts, the insanity. He’s a summoner and nothing more.

Willow insists on taking care of everything else- the weather, heat and flame, the natural setting that surrounds the survivors.

She only wants to watch the world burn. A beautifully unforgiving practitioner of the elements would see it so.

Maxwell did a sloppy job creating this world, and Wilson has to be the one to fix it. Everything the shadows touch will be conquered. He’d have to find a way to change Willow’s mind if he wants to see the island reformed in his image.

“Ugh. You’re taking too long!” Willow clenches her fist and the shadowy fire dissipates into nothingness. “Send ‘em now, while they’re still busy!”

Ah, yes. He waves his hand and an image appears. There his friends were now, looking quite occupied with one of their new beasts.

Wilson hums, satisfied. He supposes he can hasten the hounds’ approach. It would make things interesting, for one.

“Very well.”

With the snap of his fingers, he watches as the hounds suddenly burst into the camp. His old friends have quite the look on their faces! And, oh- there they go one by one, dropping like flies as the pack surrounds them and rips them apart.

There aren’t children, thankfully. That’d be cruel, even for him! But Wilson doesn’t care what happens to the others. Some of them had it coming.

Willow appears over his shoulder, her fiery pigtails tickling his cheek as she takes a big long look at what used to be their camp. Their home.

“Hmph! They left a lotta blood.” She huffs, blowing a stray strand from her face. “I’m not the one cleaning that up.”

His gloved hand moves down her arm and settles comfortably in her own warm palm.

Wilson can’t forget that he was the one who brought her here. He did everything in his power to make sure she was safe and out of harm’s way. It was a painful decision to make, but one for the better.

It could have been Willow out there, getting her arms gnawed from their sockets and organs chewed up like toys.

“You don’t have to. Just burn it.” Wilson pulls her closer and kisses her forehead.

She doesn’t like it when he teases her, so she disappears from his grasp and sets his hair on fire.

She’s been doing that a lot, lately.

He blinks quickly, stunned for but a moment. “You-!”

Willow sticks her tongue out and blows a raspberry.

The fire doesn’t hurt, but now his hair’s smoldering and it’s annoying to fix. Maybe he’ll leave it messy, just this once.

“Not funny,” she says.

Wilson gets up from the throne and walks calmly to his Queen. She’s staring at her own reflection from a mirror that she summoned just now.

She’s always looked stunning, and especially adorable when she was mad. Her black lips form a cute, tiny pout on her doll face.

“Terribly sorry, my dear.” He’s sincere, yet the slight humor in his voice is there and unmistakable.

Wilson wraps his arms around her, hugging her slender figure from behind. With the slightest touch, he’s able to manifest his power into creating a physical object out of thin air. He certainly enjoys spoiling her.

It’s only a matter of seconds. Why, he makes a better magician than that lanky, arrogant buffoon!

The Queen clutches the item that he urges into her palms. It’s one of her favorite possessions, lost long ago from when she claimed the throne, and now reunited.

Willow touches her teddy lovingly, examining every feature: his burn scars, the stuffing, and his beady little button eye. She looks like she hasn’t seen him in years. To them, it may as well have been years.

“Apology accepted.” Willow has a sad smile on her face, something soft and beautiful that he hasn’t seen in ages. Genuine emotion, untouched by the raw darkness of their power.

“You’re sad,” Wilson says. He lets a finger trail down her smooth cheek. She always put up such a powerful, intimidating image; he rarely ever got to see pieces of her fragile side.

Willow shakes her head. She looks calm and serene, but the tight grip she has on Bernie says otherwise.

“Are you happy here, with me? You can always go back if you’d like.” He couldn’t possibly force her to stay if she was so secretly unhappy.

But Willow turns to meet his eyes, and they’re no longer sad, but rather witty and amused.

“No! I like being here with you.” He knows that she’s genuine about enjoying their intimate time together, but Wilson isn’t all that dumb. He knows that she’s too smart to willingly give up the power of her dreams and go back home to a life of famine and death and suffering.

He can’t control the smirk that suddenly appears on his face. “Let’s plan our next invention, shall we?”

They link their arms together as they walk into the shadows, Willow rambling on and on about different ideas about their new monster.

He can’t help but feel it. The eyes that stare in the darkness, the hushed whispers, their triumphant power.


	2. forge

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this one doesn't make sense

Something was happening. **  
**

They were being pulled into a fight. All of them.

Hands. Crawling. An unbearable heat swallowed them whole and spat them out into a gladiator ring. An arena with dirty, disgusting swine. Scorching.

There was darkness, and then firelight. Where was he?

Curiosity took over his panic. This place didn’t feel like the island. Something had captured him and his friends and took them somewhere else. He could sense hundreds of eyes upon him, staring from somewhere he couldn’t quite pinpoint.

A warm hand gripped his wrist, something human. He tried to pull his hand back, but the grip tightened and suddenly there was harsh breathing on his face, shaky and uneven.

“Stay still!” The voice whispered.

Wilson knew that voice very well. He’d stayed up many nights talking to that voice. Wished for it when it wasn’t there, even.

“Willow?”

Her hands were on his face. Something wet was on her fingertips and she was smearing it over his left cheek, and up past his eyelid. He panicked for a moment, fearing for a second that it may not be her, but his doubt went away when he caught a glimpse of her face in the firelight.

It was face paint. She was putting some red substance on his face, and he knew because there was already stuff on her as well.

His clothing was barely visible, but it was different than his previous vest and shirt attire. This armor felt fuzzy, yet clunky and awkward on his lanky figure. The sides of his face were itchy with newly grown hair.

“Stop moving,” she hissed. “We’re almost up.”

“We’re- what? Willow, what’s going on?” He tried to latch onto her wrists, but her movements were quick with anxiety and adrenaline and he couldn’t get his fingers to grip hers.

She bit her lip. He could see her new shiny earrings, and the weird clothing she also wore. Phew. It wasn’t just him.

Wilson tried looking around but could see nothing in the darkness. “Where’re the others?”

Willow shrugged. “Somewhere.”

He opened his mouth to speak, but the roaring crowd beat him to it. Their loud bellowing echoed around them like a haunting whisper, bouncing off the walls in whatever room they were imprisoned in.

The tiny opening that let small amounts of light in was just nearly a head or two above his. If he could tiptoe, he might barely see the heads of his sadistic spectators.

He turned back to face Willow, who was staring at the light flickering onto her tainted fingertips. He didn’t know what was happening, or what was  _going_  to happen, but it didn’t feel good. He pulled her into a hug and nestled his cheek against the top of her head.

“Hey, don’t die out there,” Willow said.

Die? Die here? Die doing what?

His knees felt suddenly very weak.

“Okay,” he said.

 

* * *

 

Wilson was going to die.

He was going to die and it was all his fault.

The healing staff had escaped from his palm and rolled ways away, just out of his reach. The giant boar-warrior  _thing_  had knocked him off of his feet. Something had penetrated his lungs in the landing, and now he could only watch in excruciating pain as the giant beast slaughtered his friends one by one. Some sort of sick, twisted display this was. Those swines cheering at their gruesome deaths.

Wilson didn’t have the strength to get up, and couldn’t - there was too much blood and the heat was nauseating. This was his fault. He allowed his friends to die when he could have done something. If he hadn’t died, they could have had a fighting chance.

He was watching Willow fight the boarrior alone now. She was struggling to keep her footing as it kept pushing her back and knocking her over. She nearly tripped over the corpses of their fallen friends several times, and the boarrior’s unstoppable advances were difficult for her to dodge. The crunches were stomach-turning, and he knew that without his healing, she’d be extinguished as quickly as a fire in the rain.

…He couldn’t watch anymore. He turned his head away while meteors crashed and hell rained upon the platform.

There were loud crashes. A dying wail. A final meteor.

The world went black, and reset.


	3. tales from a constant long forgotten

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> prompts are from this list: https://www.deviantart.com/solkatt/art/100-inspirations-challenge-608406358

* * *

secret kiss

* * *

It was awfully dark outside with the only light available to them being the tiny flame from Willow’s lighter that barely encompassed the two of them. **  
**

The others had a fire- he could gaze past the tent’s bulky structure to see it roaring with vigorous youth, and them chatting calmly around it- yet he and Willow hid away in the shadows.

His arms had found their way around her waist in an awkward tangle, but before he could pull away and arrange himself, she returned his hug and pressed her lips to his cheek.

Wilson froze, almost unsure on how to respond, before deciding to hold both of her warm hands in his.

“You’re acting like you haven’t seen me in days,” he mused.

“Yeah, well.” Her thumb grazed the tip of the fire as she glanced down shyly. “It’s not like I can smother you every day, not with everyone constantly around.”

Willow referred to the hidden status their relationship had to be in. Mostly out of shyness, because they were horribly inexperienced and didn’t want the others’ obnoxious teasing, and a small mix of fear for what might happen if Wickerbottom found out.  

They could be told to separate; a relationship wasn’t exactly a smart thing to have on the island, and starting it when one is expected to die, be enslaved by the shadows, or worse was surely a stupid decision. So, to play things safe and not draw any attention, Willow and Wilson often snuck out at night when everyone else was busy or asleep.

Wilson squeezed her hand. “We could just tell them, you know! Everything would be fine. I wouldn’t let them do anything to you,” he said. And he meant it. A part of him was tired of hiding all the time, despite the risks they faced…

She hushed him- his squeaky voice made Woodie jump in alarm. Perhaps they may be  _too_  close to their camp. He opened his mouth to apologize, but suddenly her hands were on the sides of his face and pulling him down to her height.

He met her lips, soft and warm and passionate, and tried to kiss her back, although clumsily. He could feel her overwhelming love and fear all at once. His hands were shaking as they settled atop her waist.

Willow pulled back a tiny bit for air, and then finished with one last quick kiss.

“I know,” she mumbled.

 

* * *

by the calm water

* * *

Willow rests her hands on her palms as she watches her friend reel in another catch. **  
**

They have another piece of junk to add to their growing pile. A colorful toy bucket.

She can tell Wilson is scouring for dinner and not a new toy collection, but the nightlife seems to be quiet. His stomach’s been growling for ages.

She’s sitting far from him, admiring his face intently.

He’s got pretty blue eyes that flicker like cold fires in the night.

His hair, a blue-black in the light of the oasis, looks soft and puffy. She wants to reach out and stroke it, but refrains.

There’s another splash as Wilson throws his hook back into the water. It’s so serene and peaceful, all glowing like that, but she knows of the monsters waiting to drag her under if she decides to stick a toe in.

She shudders as she remembers being pushed in, and the sensation of drowning sends a chill down her spine.

Uncomfortable, Willow peers back at Wilson. His mouth is in the shape of a tiny pout. He must be feeling pretty sleepy, too.

She moves closer, so that their shoulders are barely brushing.

“Are you sure you don’t want cactus?” Willow waves around the burnt plant she’s been snacking on. “It’s not that bad. Spiny, maybe, but the fire makes it taste better.”

He glares at her. “No, I’m… fine. I think I’ll catch one soon.”

“No ya won’t, dummy. The fish are sleeping.”

Wilson grumbles something under his breath. He goes to scratch his cheek- it’s a bit scruffy, and she thinks he may have forgotten to shave.

“Well. Lemme know if you want some.”

She rests her head on his shoulder, chewing on the last of her cactus as she begins to doze off to the sounds of rippling water and soft desert winds.

He kisses the top of her head in good-night.

 

* * *

playing in the forbidden room

* * *

“See? I told you it was creepy!” **  
**

Wilson pretended not to notice the discarded skulls Maxwell had lying around his room. He wondered which of the skulls may’ve belonged to him, although they all had the same weird head-shape, so perhaps it was only him after all.

He shuddered. Did he really die  _that_  much?

Willow wandered over to where his chests were. “Dare me to take a peek?” She had a cheshire grin. “Maybe he’s got a secret diary!”

“Go for it,” he said, “but don’t come crawling to me when you get hexed.”

She stuck out her tongue at him. “Ha-ha. Very funny.”

Slowly, she opened the chest, its lid creaking heavily from its weight and age. A waft of something  _disgusting_  and  _evil_  met their noses and he hissed.

“Ugh, what’s he hiding in here, corpses?” Willow pinched her nose as she peered into the chest.

While Willow was busy digging into whatever stash Maxwell possessed, Wilson stood near her and examined his machinery: a manipulator that seemed to lack in metal and gears. He hummed to himself in thought- perhaps all their bad luck came from this thing, if not something worse.

Whatever it was, Wilson didn’t want to find out. But Willow was still snooping.

“Hey, take a look at this!”

“Hm?” A dusty, smelly book was shoved open into his face and he jumped back.

“I found his old man diary! See, it’s got his initial on it.” Yes, he could certainly see the red-stitched ‘M’ on the cover. Wilson took the book from Willow and she moved to his side excitedly.

He flipped through some of the pages, scanning the words and taking the illustrations in. Some were of shadows he had seen before, when he had hit a very low mental point, and some from the statues he had seen underground in the ruins. What  _was_  all this?

“The words are all mumbo-jumbo,” Willow said.

“Latin, perhaps?” These had to have been spells. What else? “Maybe we shouldn’t mess with this…”

“Aw, boo! Don’t tell me you’re a chicken.”

Wilson crossed his arms as she snatched the book away from him. “I’m not! You know what he’s capable of. May I remind you that he’s the one who brought us all here?” He gestured to the book with the nod of his head. “Perhaps with  _this_  very book?”

She gave him a deadpan glare. “Way to kill the mood.”

He huffed. A part of him wanted that book back, so that he could study its contents. It might have the secret to their escape. On the other hand… that thing may end up cursing them all. Again.

Willow was reading something aloud. He looked up and saw her inciting the latin they had found in the margins, despite his clear warning, and he ran over to stop her. “Willow, wait!”

She finished hastily, and looked up at him in alarm as he toppled her and the book over. He suddenly felt very light and very… uncomfortable. Colder. He couldn’t feel the heavy weight of his limbs or hair. 

“Willow?” She was staring at him fearfully. “What’s wrong with you?” Why was she looking at him like that?

“You shouldn’t have read from that thing!”

“I… I-“ Willow put a hand to her mouth and looked away. “I didn’t mean to-“

He looked down at his hands and saw that they were made of shadow.


	4. forever//over

He hasn’t seen Willow in weeks.

She’s never gone that long. If she is, it means that something bad has happened. Or she simply had gotten distracted. But it was so unlike her to have been absent for so long… 

She wouldn’t have left, would she? Her home was here, and all of her fires were here, and her friends were here. It didn’t make any sense.

Summer supposedly ended a few weeks ago, yet Wilson finds himself huddling next to the cold blue fire when the dog days never seem to end. In fact, it feels like the temperature is only getting higher with each passing day. The blistering heat is unforgivable, and the air seems to have grown thicker over time, reacting unpleasantly with his black mass of hair.

It doesn’t feel right. Nothing ever feels right.

The amount of wildfires triple. The smoke now blankets the sky and turns the moon blood-red. Willow would have loved to see this.

He pinches himself. Willow is not here. Willow could be dying somewhere, but she is not here. She could be perfectly fine. It doesn’t matter, and despite the warning signs in his head that urge him to  _do something_ for once _-_ help the  _only_ person who’s ever cared about him-Wilson gets up to gather his things and leave.

There’s another forest fire nearby, the same as always. Luckily for him, the mass destruction will never be able to sweep through his camp. He is cautious about making camp so close to the trees. Willow never minds it, but it means that she has to walk farther out for her own fires. They can’t afford to take risks in a place so dangerous.

Wilson is careful to avoid the fire. To inhale the smoke by being so close is deadly, and his lungs have already suffered a great deal of damage. He stays farther back this time and admires the view.

A large branch falls, and the loud crunch as it hits the ground makes him flinch.

He spots a tall, black shadow among the flames where the embers from the fallen branch slowly rise into the sky.

It does not look like a tree, so he shakes his head once, twice, and the shadow disappears.

His fingers brush against his temple. No headache, how strange…

Despite the tricks that his mind plays, he can’t help but wonder if Willow is somewhere out there enjoying the fire, too.


	5. roses and broken hearts

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> all hearts can be mended with time and care.

Beyond the garden wall was the sound of an unfamiliar weeping that Wendy had never heard before. **  
**

This crying sounded mournful and chest-weakening, in an attempt to be stifled so that other lingering parties wouldn’t hear.

She peered through the hedges and saw nothing. This place was to be her own secret labyrinth, after all. Everything here was meant to be unseen.

Whoever was on the other side would surely have regrets once night fell. Should they not have light, the night monster would feast on them first, or they would land on the prickled thorns of roses as they wandered throughout the maze, lost and miserable…

The crying grew louder. It was beginning to grow bothersome, because this was supposed to be  _her_  place to come and cry. Their misery was becoming her own misery.

Wendy tucked away her sister’s crumpled flower. She built this garden, of course- knew every corner, every dead end. She would deal with this mysterious grief. They would not stop otherwise.

In here, the wildlife was overgrown and thriving. The roses such a brilliant red that they appeared to be painted. They were bigger, too, and therefore had bigger thorns. Whoever had snuck in here ought to be braver than she thought.

She made her way around the walls. Wendy approached the crying figure, but they did not seem to notice her with their face buried in their hands.

They dressed in a fitting rosy attire, and had hair tied up in pigtails that made it seem like they had been wrangled in branches.

Ah, yes. The firestarter. How peculiar… she did not think of Willow to be such an… ugly crier.

Wendy stood and waited for her tears to end but they seemed to be almost infinite. She grew impatient.

“Perhaps you’d like to cry elsewhere?”

Willow jumped at the sudden sound of her voice.

“You seem to be lost.” And certainly far from home.

Willow’s fists clenched the fabric of her dress. Her cheeks were tear stained and rosy. She must be embarrassed, being seen at such a low point. “Go b-bother someone else, will you? I’m busy!”

There was something hidden in the folds of her dress. She could see the bump easily. Willow glared fire and daggers, but Wendy made no advances to leave.

“Is It death that haunts you so?”

“Ughhh, no!” A sniffle, and then frantic wiping at her eyes.

“You’ve lost something dear to you.”

“I  _said_  go  _away!”_  Her voice quivered.

Wendy pushed harder. “Or is it a someone?”

The woman was steaming, now. She hadn’t noticed the drastic change in temperature until Willow started yelling. She looked to see if there was a fire, but none seemed to be in sight. How peculiar.

“Can’t you go kill bunnies or destroy dollies or something? Geez, you’re acting like a real p-pest.”

“You’re the pest in my garden,” Wendy corrected. “And the thorn in my side.”

She seemed to be incredibly adamant on staying in her labyrinth, but Wendy wanted to sulk alone. In silence.

If Wendy could query on the origins of her sadness, then perhaps the firestarter could stop drowning her garden in tears.

She must have had a broken heart. Willow’s hands had moved to press against her chest as she spoke, as if she was trying to stop it from beating so hard.

“Weeping Willow, this is unlike you.”

Willow hugged her knees to her chest. The dying thing could hardly catch her own breath. It reminded Wendy of some of the critters she killed. They were always so frail, and seemed to cry as she swiftly took the life from their distant, glistening eyes.

“I’m just tired.”

“We are all tired here. We burden ourselves every day with the duty of living.”

“No, I mean- ugh, I’m so mad!” Willow swept her fingers through her sticky bangs.

There were more tears threatening to spill. She would do a year’s worth of crying. Tomorrow, it would hurt her more than the heartache itself.

“Don’t you know what it’s like to lose everything you’ve ever loved?” Willow groaned into her hands. “I’m such an idiot.”

Wendy touched her sister’s flower gently.

“I should just go back to being nobody.”

The token Willow was hiding was protruding, but she could barely distinguish it among the many layers of her dress’s frills. If she could just wait for her to move ever so slightly…

…Ah, there. It appeared to be a glass heart, smashed to pieces and fixed with little to no attempt.

Silly Willow. Broken hearts couldn’t be fixed with tape. Once they shattered, they couldn’t be fixed at all.

“Here, you are already nobody,” she said truthfully.

“Gee. Thanks.”

Wendy sat down beside a bushel of roses, brushing down her skirt. There were far too many flowers, and she would have to start plucking them from their stems.

Her… friend… sniffled once or twice before regaining her composure. Yet her breaths remained shaky and uneven. “I deserved it.”

She did not want to play therapist, so she quietly stuck to peeling rose petals.

It was odd company.

“How could I have been so stupid?” The woman examined the shattered heart in her hands, fuming. The chain attached to it was broken and hanging. Wendy’s gentle touch could easily destroy the thing called love, and it was oh-so tempting.

She let Willow ramble on about whatever it was she seemed to be upset about; she had stopped listening long ago. Whatever affair Willow had gotten herself into, it wasn’t in Wendy’s interest to find out more. But, still, she harbored some curiosity…

“You haven’t started a fire.”

Surely her gigantic release of emotions ignited some spark in her? Again, Wendy did not see any fire. It was her usual way of coping, wasn’t it?

“I did,” Willow said weakly. “Far away from here.”

“And now you come to hide.”

“They won’t leave me alone.”

Willow looked down. The amulet in her hands crumbled into shards. Wendy knew it would not last long.

She had finished plucking all of the roses, and now they’d lay here and wither away. Such as all things that were living.

Sadness only crumbled minds, turning them into blood and mush. Willow could not explain herself fully, and she did not seem to have the energy to keep on talking.

Wendy stood up in her mess of rose petals. 

Tonight, she would do her business elsewhere.

“You put too much trust in our dear companions,” Wendy gestured to the broken heart. “No one will be able to hurt you if you build your walls up high enough.”

Willow rubbed her eyes, looking up to the very top of the hedge. Her gaze was a soft flickering fire that threatened to burn out. She was silent, but she understood well.

The air grew chilly, as if death’s presence had surrounded her.

Wendy turned and left without another word.


	6. trust you, trust me

Wilson looks up from his journal at the sound of a hushed voice.

“I just want to be close to someone for a little bit. Is that okay?”

Willow’s dark silhouette blocks the opening of the tent. It had nearly scared Wilson out of his wits, with her always surprising him when he was expecting it least, especially at this time of night, but he decides not to complain about it this time. Something seemed… off.

“Oh! Um.” He was about to sleep, but the worried look on her face told him that he probably wouldn’t be getting it for awhile. “Of course. Is something wrong?”

It’s hard to see without a light, so he’s barely able to make out her shadowy form as she moves to settle in the empty space next to him.

Willow lets out a shaky breath. “I had a bad dream. And I can’t really go back to sleep, sooo… I hope I’m not…”

“You’re not bothering me at all,” he assures.

She shudders. “It was awful, Wilson.”

He doesn’t really know what to say, or how to comfort her, so he lets her rest against him to show that he’s still there and listening. His own nightmares were ones he couldn’t bear to talk about. Willow’s must’ve been so terrible… He notes her frazzled pigtails and quivering lip.

“Have you ever lost somebody?” She asks. “Somebody important to you?”

He tried to think about it. Wilson did not know the current whereabouts of his family, nor did he remember suffering from a major departure. A few relatives had passed here and there, but he handled the loss well, and did not think about them for longer than a day.

…Did losing Willow count? Seeing her die over and over again hurt more than anything. Her recklessness got her into trouble that he wasn’t always able to save her from.

“Yes.” He gently squeezes her hands. They’re ice cold, so he holds them by his chest. “Many times.”

He feels her face nestle into his shoulder. They fall into an odd silence disguised by loud thoughts.

She’s holding his hand real tight when suddenly his sleeve feels damp.

“Oh… Willow…”

She was crying. Her body was shaking, like she was doing everything in her power not to cry, but wasn’t able to stop it. He had never seen her cry before. It felt so wrong.

Wilson wipes away her tears with the back of his finger.

Her voice is tiny, and broken, and vulnerable. “I’m sorry.”

And she can’t help but break down in his arms again. He lets her cry, because sometimes she forces herself not to and it must be so painful to have to bottle everything up all the time. She certainly had her reasons, whether she chose to share them or not.

He gently sweeps her sticky bangs from her eyes. She deserved the world.

And while he couldn’t provide that for her without being on the throne, he could still do this.

He hoped, more than anything, that it would be enough.


	7. with all your grief in my arms, i will labor by singing light

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> you just could not last forever, could you?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> warning for some angst and a makeout. triumphant wilson/willow shenanigans

The quiet crinkling of lightbulbs filled his ears as the plants swayed gently in the air.

In his arms, a stifled light gasped for breath. She clutched his waistcoat tightly, as if he were an anchor in the sea, and made the tiniest of noises whenever his lips explored her smooth skin. 

Wilson didn’t know what had gotten into himself, why the sudden heaviness in his cold heart outweighed everything else. Why the sleek, dark liquid of nightmare fuel dripped from his eyes and down his cheeks, and why the woman in his arms kissed it away, as if there was never anything at all. 

She didn’t stop him when he laid her down against the plush cushions of her bedroll. While his lips moved to pepper the fragile skin along her neck with the lightest of kisses, she shivered under his touch and he swore he was almost close enough to feel the quickened beating of her heart through the thin fabric of her shirt. Willow was devastated, and had been ever since she laid her eyes on him when he first approached her from the throne. The feeling never truly went away. In fact, it even spread, just like the shadows that ran through his veins and corrupted his own heart.

She didn’t want _him_. She wanted a memory of him; a memory that the darkness tore up and left behind, and no matter how hard he tried to reach for it, it was gone. When he looked at his reflection, he only saw the splitting image of a broken man. Not the almighty and powerful king he was meant to be. _Supposed_ to be. And perhaps Willow saw through his reflection, too.

Although she was flush against his chest, he could still feel the invisible, silent barrier splitting them apart, and it wouldn’t go away no matter how hard he tried to press against her. Together, they were only the empty husks of people they used to be, and who they thought they were. 

His slow kisses moved along her jaw. His hand, dull at the fingertips but itching to become sharp, fatal, took her thigh and pulled it to his waist. Willow gasped, back arching, but the sweet sounds that came from her mouth were laced with the same sadness that filled her chest. 

With hungry intention, the Shadow King took her lips with his own and tasted the agony that she sung so beautifully. Warm and wet against his own, he kissed her over and over, until he felt the tears that spilled along the sides of her flushed face— and the saltiness of it that mixed into their kiss. 

“I love you,” he breathed against her mouth, drunk with her unrequited love. “I love you, it’s me. It’s me, Willow,” he said between kisses, kisses that she returned with equal fervor.

But she continued to cry, and he didn’t know what else he could do but chant the same words on his tongue. His love and light held his face in her hands and fought for control over his lips. It was her turn to murmur, “Come back to me. Come _back_.”

He was the most powerful being in the Constant, but there was nothing even the Shadow King could do to grant her wishes. 

Wilson rested his forehead against hers, breathing heavily and letting the wet string between their mouths fall. The sound of their quiet panting filled the space of the tent, so quiet that it competed with the swaying lightbulbs outside. 

He pressed one last gentle kiss to her lips. “I’m sorry.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> inspired by sara, so blame sara


	8. music box

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> we danced together, once

“ __No way, you’ve gotta be pulling my leg.”

“He really does play music, I swear!”

Willow puffs out her cheeks, hands upon her hips as she examines their fishy friend whose eyes look in opposite directions. Like it examined both herself and Wilson, not a single clue in its tiny brain or a care in the world about what they were arguing over this time.

They rarely got to see Hutch. It was only in the hottest of summers that she and Wilson retreated into the caves to escape the searing heat. Even a fiery goddess such as herself needed a break from the sun, and she couldn’t leave behind her poor friend who was much vulnerable to the flame. Wilson is the one who suggested this outing, and as much as she disliked going into the caves, the stiff coolness that it possessed was a bit more tolerable than the surface where it was sweaty and gross. At least she could still feel a bit of the sunlight that leaked from the cracked slits above.

“I discovered it not too long ago. It’s an interesting phenomenon, really.”

Wilson kneels down to Hutch’s level and opens the creature’s mouth. Like a fish, Hutch is slimy and leaves a disgusting goop trail everywhere he goes. If fish could walk, that is. And it was leaving residue all over Wilson’s gloved hands. Yuck.

Thank goodness she wasn’t the one performing the experiment.

His gaze hovers over something jutting out of his backpack. “Do you remember Chester’s full moon transformations?”

“Yeah. His black and blue ones,” she says. Personally, she preferred his shadow version over his snowy one. The latter wasn’t that fun for her to cuddle.

“Well, Hutch has the capability of transformations himself. Although they’re different than Chester’s and don’t require the moon cycle, the process of getting him to transform is still the same.”

He places a couple of lightbulbs into Hutch’s mouth and the itty-bitty protrusion at the top of his head lights up, encompassing the both of them in a bright light. Willow frowns.

Where in the world was he getting at? This stuff wasn’t new. “He does that, so what?”

Wilson was already taking the clunky object out of his pack. It was one of those one-man bands they used to play with when they were bored. She grins at the memory of them playing horrible music together like dorks, all throughout the day and night.

Willow watches with curious interest as he places the instrument inside Hutch. In less than a second, he levitates just barely off the ground and transforms into a bluish color. His eyes are long and funny looking and his tongue changes to a bright orange, and altogether he looks like he’s become a different species of fish.

The light atop his head becomes something that looks like those disco balls from back home. It’s sparkly and almost feels like magic, but she keeps that second part to herself. Wilson gives her a meek smile as he waves his hands, dazzling her. “Ta-da! Science.”

“Oh my gosh.” She scoots closer to him, examining Hutch’s new appearance and also staring at Wilson in awe. “How’d you even figure it out?”

Wilson clears his throat. “It was an accident, actually. A convenient discovery. And there’s one more that I want to show you, too, but first I want you to listen closely.”

His gloves have come off and they’re placed neatly by Hutch’s paws. He holds a finger to his lips and together they quietly listen to the sounds coming from the scaly creature in deep concentration.

The music is sort of sad, she notes. Not fast or exciting or loud, but a very soft strumming of some instrument from the band that she can’t place. She can’t remember the last time she’s listened to music- genuine music, not the random smashing of sounds she makes when it’s her turn to play the one-man band. It makes the world seem much more slower, quieter, and she blinks as she sees Wilson stand up out of the corner of her eye.

He’s holding a hand out to her, that silly grin still written on his face. “May I have this dance?”  
  
Willow laughs and takes his hand, firm and calloused and against her own. “You’re smooth.”

They’ve danced before, clumsily. Separately, or together in swing. This dance is slow and matches Hutch’s music, something she’s definitely not used to, but doesn’t mind doing in the warmth of a summer afternoon.

Her hands find their way around his neck while his settle just above her hips. She hopes he can’t hear her stuttering heartbeat as they move closer together. Swaying back and forth, back and forth.

It’s real nice.

“Didja ever take lessons?” She asks. His moves are careful and deliberate, like how he always is when he’s doing science, but it makes her wonder if he’s experienced with dancing. The real fancy kind of dancing, like how rich people dance at parties and galas.

Willow watches specks of light dance across his face and clothing as he turns her slowly, leading her into a small spin.

“Mmm, a little.” He pulls her back towards him and she uses the opportunity to rest her head on his chest. “My parents put me in lessons when I was young. I don’t consider myself that good of a dancer, though.”

She looks up at him, eyes wide. “You are to!”

She’s about to say a whole bunch of other nonsense when he gently leads her into another spin. Without needing to look down, she can feel her heels spark a fire in the grass and she subtly puts it out when she spins again. All without losing his attention.

The dancing was making her nervous! Willow couldn’t dance as well as him and for some silly reason she didn’t want him to call her out on it. Hutch’s weird eyes felt like they were judging her, too.

His face moves to lean against her temple but she can still feel his breath on her ear.

Without any previous indication of some sort of change, his voice becomes low and deep and unsettling. “Thank you, darling.”

Willow freezes, an ice-cold chill overcoming her and forcing her to a halt, but Wilson is still swaying and moving her as such. She doesn’t dare look at him because suddenly the hands at her hips become claws and they’re digging sharply into her skin, holding her in place. The red vest he once donned is a dark suit and his lips are pressing against her cheek, a bittersweet kiss.

This isn’t real. It was once real, but something’s different, and she shuts her eyes so tightly that it starts to hurt and yells for him to go away.

Over and over and over.

When Willow opens her eyes again, she’s surrounded by darkness. Hutch’s sleeping figure snores quietly at her feet- normal, same old Hutch- and the air is still once more. Only the crackle of her dying fire reaches her ears and she comes to the realization that everything really did come to an end.

Wilson really was gone.

Her legs can’t hold her weight any longer and she falls to the ground, skin scraping stone and her eyes are blurry and she doesn’t care about anything else anymore.

Her hands feel like they’re on fire and Willow curls up into a ball and yells out her feelings to the world, to the stars and moon, to Them, and cries until she no longer has the energy to keep going.


	9. stories from beyond the firelight

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> prompts are from this list: https://www.deviantart.com/solkatt/art/100-inspirations-challenge-608406358

* * *

Spying on perfection

* * *

On a scorching midsummer afternoon, the grass is dry and withering beneath his feet as Wilson leans against the trunk of a birchnut tree, drinking what little there is of shade. His hands feel like they’re covered with blisters after working tirelessly in the poor weather condition. 

The remains of his previous garland have fallen apart and fell around him as rotting petals, but there are still new flowers around him, somehow untouched by the smoldering summer heat.

He plucks them one by one and begins to twist the stems into a crownlike formation. Sometimes his fingers fumble and he messes up a row and has to redo it— he blows air from his nose in frustration, but a loud clank from afar draws his attention.

In the distance, he can see Willow cooking tonight’s dinner. She’d slammed the lid of the crockpot a little too hard. The smell of meat wafts through the air along with the hint of something sweet, causing his stomach to grumble. But he isn’t worried about his hunger. 

His eyes gaze towards Willow’s hair. She has it tied up in a single bun atop her head, which surprises him— she rarely wears her long hair out of her twin tails. It looks pretty on her, he likes seeing the light hit the angles on her face that he wouldn’t be able to see otherwise.

If he listens closely, he can hear her humming while she works, clearly in a good mood. Willow looks so beautiful in the moment, he can’t help but stare, caught in a trance. 

Her tongue sticks out of her mouth— a quirk she adopted from himself, the one and only— as she takes the finished meal from the crockpot. It seems they were going to have honey nuggets tonight and… if Wilson peeks just a little bit further, some ice cream for dessert. 

Why does Willow spoil him so? Doesn’t she know that he’s not worth fawning over?  

But as she catches his eyes fixated on her face, she smiles like the sweetest little thing. It’s enough to make him melt like ice in his palm. 

“Hey, what? What is it? Why are you smiling so big?” She wonders aloud. 

He lowers the completed garland in his hands, a string made from the crimson flowers she hates the least. They’re a little burnt on the edges, but she likes it that way. He decides to give it to her after they finish eating. 

Wilson pauses, thinking, and the small, confused smile on her own face doesn’t falter.

“No reason,” he finally says. “I just think you’re perfect.” 

 

* * *

Keep me warm

* * *

Wilson can barely feel his fingers in the winter frost. 

Right now, they’re away from their main camp, set up at a temporary one in some rocky terrain somewhere they’ve never ventured before. It’s his fault for dragging Willow to go with him though because he knows she’s freezing, too.

Willow could build the biggest fire ever. She could. But their resources were limited and this place had no trees and they had to make do with this little one. 

He knows she could just sit in the fire and wait it out. Heck, she could even cuddle Bernie for warmth while she was at it. But as Wilson shivers in the cold, a blanket of snow practically on top of him, Willow feels guilty for leaving him all alone to freeze. 

“Willow, you don’t have to, it’s okay—“

“I don’t care. Scoot over.”

And so he does. His friend’s skin is as warm as sunlight, and he can feel her heat through his many layers of clothes. She buries her head in his shoulder as she gives him an awkward sideways hug, nuzzling him just ever so slightly when trying to find a good position. 

He feels her soft hands press against his own cold, clammy ones and wonders why in the world she does this for him. Gently, he strokes the top of her hand with the pad of his thumb and rests his chin atop her ahead. She’s shivering, just slightly, because his coldness was becoming her coldness and her heat was becoming his heat. That was just how science worked.

Wilson, after coming to a bold decision, decides to wrap an arm around her and pull her closer. Willow takes his hand and cups it around her mouth. He’s curious about what she’ll do, but she only blows into it with her warm breath, trying to comfort him further. It feels real nice. 

“Thank you for keeping me warm.”

“You’re welcome,” she murmurs. “You’d do the same for me.” 

He feels her kiss his hand; so soft like the touch of a feather, Wilson wonders if it was only his imagination.

 

* * *

 Tempted by darkness

* * *

 There’s movement in the dark. Willow swears on her life that there’s something out there, but it’s too smart to be an animal. Too smart to be… _human_.

Her hands shake as she clutches her spear— it’s aimed at the shadows, and she inwardly laughs at how ridiculous she must look. A woman pointing at nothing in the shadows was certainly the opposite of sane. 

But the thing was that something _was_ there, and it _was_ tempting her to go into the darkness. Just slightly, inch by inch, she found herself moving farther from her fire’s beautiful light. It’s as if her legs had a mind of its own. 

A twig cracks, and she swivels her spear in the other direction. “Show yourself!” Willow orders, although there's hesitance in her voice; a part of her is afraid of what will happen if the thing _does_ show itself, and she hopes it doesn’t catch the fear stuck in her throat.

However, the sinking feeling in her gut and the approaching headache in her temple tells her that it may have very well just done that. 

When she finds the courage to yell at the shadows again, she’s met with a loud cackling somewhere, and Willow feels her heart nearly burst from her chest. The masculine voice sounds familiar. Like it belonged to somebody she used to ~~know~~   ~~miss~~ **love**. 

She doesn’t want to believe it. The thing sounds so close to her now, she can hear traces of his dying laughter. 

Willow takes her lighter and sparks a flame, swinging it in its direction.

"Hello, my dear."

She gasps, nearly dropping her lighter as she catches the pale, gruesome face of none other than her missing friend Wilson P. Higgsbury.


	10. protection | shame | tantrum

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> prompts are from this list: https://www.deviantart.com/solkatt/art/100-inspirations-challenge-608406358

* * *

 I will protect you

* * *

Wilson hated promises. He hated making them, yes— but he hated breaking them even more. 

When Willow wrapped her pinky around his and told him to promise that they would protect each other no matter what happened, he thought he could do it. And _oh_ , what a _fool_ he was to have ever trusted himself with such a responsibility.

What had begun as a battle they were triumphantly winning soon turned into a struggle for survival. In the winter, all the giants had adopted a new appearance, and some were remarkably stronger. He just wished he knew about it before Willow pulled away from his grasp to charge at the Deerclops infiltrating their camp.

He remembered shouting for her to wait. He remembered the large red eye that stared them down as if they were being judged in the afterlife— the purple fur, matted in sticky blood of whatever creature it belonged to. He remembered yelling at Willow to stop because this one was different than all the others they had faced before.

And to his dismay, his mental hypothesis had been correct. The red eye was not anything normal of sorts, and as soon as Willow had gotten a few hits, the Deerclops drew in one large breath and shot a laser in her direction.

She moved out of the way, just barely, and the powerful burst of energy was enough to graze the edges of her skirt, burning it to a crisp. That’s when Wilson remembered that his feet weren’t frozen to the ground yet and he could still move to help her. 

“Be careful!” He yelled, but his words went to the wind as snow crashed from all around them, sending their weapons flying.

There had been another laser shot amongst the clouded mess; he felt the heat from it on his skin as it snuffed the ground, and Wilson was shoved roughly to the side, the laser barely skimming him.

It was a pair of hands that pushed him out of the way.

His head turned to find Willow, but all he could see was white. Without his weapon (it was lost somewhere in the snow, along with Willow and her weapon) he was useless. But he was quick to be on his feet, and as soon as the saw the mighty beast’s eyes on him again, Wilson ran from their camp and into the woods. 

He was too scared to go back for Willow in case the Deerclops would go for her. He hoped that by luring it into the woods, he could eventually run far enough to lose its trail and come back to her. There was no way he could fight this thing without a weapon and his armor was beginning to crack.

Wilson ran for what felt like miles in the snow. His feet kept sinking, slowing him down, but eventually the monster turned its back on him and trekked elsewhere. Chest heaving, he wiped the sweat from his forehead and rushed back to camp.

He arrived to the same ruins that their home had been left in. He wondered where Willow had wandered off to until he approached closer, and his heart nearly stopped when he saw red in the snow. 

“Willow!” He cried, rushing to her and feeling the pit of his stomach sink at her unmoving figure. 

She was face down in the snow, her body charred and bloody and battered. “You don’t burn,” he wailed. “Willow, you don’t burn!”

Gingerly, he shook her shoulder, hoping to get a response. When she didn’t respond, that was when Wilson gently flipped her over. He nearly gagged at the smell— burnt flesh and chemicals, blood and alabaster snow filled his nostrils.

Willow was fireproof. But the laser wasn’t fire, and it hurt her so badly. He recalled being shoved— had she been the one to move him out of the Deerclops’ way? Tears filled his eyes as he examined the wounds on her body, knowing there was no easy way she could recover. 

A frail, quiet voice. “Wilson…”

He snapped out of his thoughts. She was still alive!

“I’m so sorry,” he cried, a tear slipping from his cheek and falling on top of her. It always hurt to see her go. And her wounds looked so, so painful. He hoped that her nerves were burnt so that she didn’t have to feel any pain.

The woman seemed numb, whether from the cold or from her wounds, he didn’t know. She had taken the hit with her body directly so most of the damage was in her midsection. He tried to avoid touching it as to not hurt her, but he still somehow managed to collect her blood on his hands.

“I promised to protect you.” Willow tried to smile, but it was quickly wiped away when she tried to move and she groaned.

He couldn’t help but yell. “Why’d you do that? Why’d you have to do that, Willow? _Why?!_ ” 

“We—we pinky promised, remember?”

She gasped again, trying to breathe as much as she could, but he could tell it was killing her to be alive. He wanted to be angry, but he couldn’t find it in himself to yell at her. Especially not when he was crying, and especially when it wasn’t her fault. It was his. 

Wilson brushed the loose strands of hair from her face, a pale angel dying in the snow. 

“Now we’ll know for next time.” Willow closed her eyes. 

He didn’t want her to go so easily. And where would she go, even? To some touchstone in the woods where she’d only freeze to death without her lighter? 

He cupped her cheek with one of his stained hands and pitifully sobbed into the crook of her neck. 

He could feel her breathing begin to slow, minutes passing like grains of sand in an hourglass, until it finally stopped altogether. 

“Don’t make promises anymore.”

* * *

 He has no shame

* * *

From the warm inside of her tent, Willow can see her laundry swaying in the evening breeze. 

She’s got some of her clothes on a line tied between two trees, which, embarrassingly enough, included some of her undergarments. But it was something that needed to be done, and Willow had no idea how long she could keep on smelling like wet hound fur.

Willow knows that he’s somewhere out there mocking her while she hides in what little safety her tent provides. She’s got a blanket around herself to hide her modesty, but even so, she can’t help feeling like she’s exposed for the whole Constant to see.

Like a clock, she counts down the seconds, waiting for Wilson to manifest into the shadows. She wonders if he’ll even give her the satisfaction of a visit, or if she was lucky, something much more fruitful.

There’s a harsh wind that gets her hair whipping across her cheek and her clothes are almost thrown from the line. A chill down her spine, goosebumps rising along her skin, and she knows that he’s finally here.

“My _king_ ,” Willow says with a straight face, although there isn’t much she can do to hide the sarcasm in her voice. From an outsider’s perspective, it would seem that she was talking to nobody. But the shadows slowly form two pricks of white light that blink back at her.

They lower, meeting her gaze at her own level. “My light,” his dark voice murmurs, “my love.”

She’s sitting at the opening with her legs comfortably outside, and she feels no fear about him hurting her. A part of her was still inside, after all.

Willow flushes a bit at the nickname and is suddenly thankful that her face is hidden in the darkness. There were fireflies in the distance, bouncing light off the autumn trees, but they weren’t enough for her to even see his complete form. “Don’t call me that.”

A mock gasp. He’s close enough to her now that she can feel his breath on her cheek, and a part of her is afraid of what she’ll see if she grabs her lighter and swings it in his direction. 

“And I thought you still cared.”

“I didn’t forget what you did last time,” she huffs. Earlier in the week, he’d given her something inappropriate in one of her daily boxes and she hadn’t forgiven him for it since. Said item burned in a lovely fire. 

Willow feels a hand on her ankle. His touch is cool enough to startle her and make her want to pull her leg back, but she doesn’t. His thumb strokes her smooth skin in circles.

“It’s all fun and games isn’t it, my dear?” 

“Not when you get in my way while I’m busy trying not to die.” 

He tsks. The hand that rests at her ankle slowly crawls higher and Willow feels her goosebumps returning. He stops at the dip in her leg, stroking his palm along the soft area of her calf. She doesn’t need to see his face to know that he’s adopted a wide grin. 

What a creep. She should really show this guy some manners.

“I don’t mean it,” he purrs, and suddenly she can feel his lips press against her cheek. Willow winces, and she wonders if he is close enough to hear her heart thumping loudly in her chest.

“Wilson,” she murmurs.

He kisses her softly, innocently. She freezes in place, waiting for him to drag a claw across her skin and draw blood, but it never comes. 

“What do you want from me, now? What game are you playing this time?”

Wilson’s eyes narrow. “I’m not allowed to check up on my favorite test subject? I enjoy teasing you, Willow, but I can see you whenever I want.”

_Whenever I want._ The words echoed in her mind and she swirled them around in her tongue.

“— _However_ I want.” 

And then his hand slides up to grasp her bare thigh. Willow gasps, moving just ever so slightly, but he holds her in place and she knows it will be hard to kick him away now. The blanket she has fastened around her needs one of her hands to hold it up, so the other can only do so much.

She panics slightly when she remembers she has nothing on underneath.

“Fucker,” Willow mumbles.

His fingers gently pluck at the warm, vulnerable skin there, but to Willow’s surprise he lets go of her. Even when only the whites of his eyes are visible, she has a feeling that he’s staring straight through where the cover wraps around her slim body. He seems to have retreated, as even the chill of his breath has left her cheek.

“You’re bold to pick fights with a king who has no shame,” he hums to himself.

She retreats back into the tent, refusing to entertain him any longer. Her clothes need to dry and she needs to sleep.

She knows that he’s finally gone when she can no longer feel his eyes on her. It’s always like a prick in her skin when he leaves; painful, annoying, and she had nothing to cover the wound with.

In the morning when Willow wakes up, she finds that all of her clothes have been taken except for her undergarments, and she shouts the loudest swears she can manage into the heart of the forest.

* * *

 Bedtime tantrums

* * *

 It had taken ages for Willow to put her baby to sleep.

Something was bothering her daughter. Nora was never fussy— only calm and collected and happy. But that night as she tried to rock her to sleep, she would only produce an ear-splitting and heartbreaking cry and Willow grew frustrated at herself for being unable to find the issue and resolve it.

She’d held Nora against the warmth of her chest until she tired herself, no longer wriggling and wailing as if something tormented her. But in this world, Willow knew that it may have very well been possible. The Constant showed no mercy to its victims or their children. 

Willow had planned to wait a couple weeks before introducing Bernie to her daughter, but in the dead of night, it seemed that she was going to have to do it sooner than she thought. Nora was busy sniffling, her cheeks wet with tears and her tiny hands clenching and unclenching the fabric of her shirt, stressed. 

The teddy bear stared blankly at the child from the corner of the tent. When Willow brought him closer, he began to fidget in her hand, a telltale sign of madness that she knew very well. 

“Hush, baby,” she cooed to her tiny daughter, “I want you to meet someone. This is Bernie, my best friend in the whole entire world.” Nora, suddenly interested in the fluffy bear, reached to grab his stumpy paw.

“Bernie, this is Nora, my baby. Can you protect her just like how you protected me? Can you do that for me, Bernie?” Willow whispered with wide, hopeful eyes.

The teddy did nothing in her hands, still fidgeting from the shadows that watched the tiny child, but Willow only nodded her head and tucked him beside her daughter. “Thank you, Bernie.”

When she laid the two of them to rest, Nora having fallen asleep out of exhaustion, she noticed that the teddy bear had stopped moving. His head rested comfortably on the soft rise and fall of Nora’s chest while his paw was still clutched tightly in her baby hand. He looked to be as peaceful as a magical bear in a magical world could be. Perhaps, somewhere within his sentient being, he sensed a part of Willow in her, too. 

Willow wondered if, in time, she could ask him to protect Nora from more than just her nightmares. 


	11. cuddles

Willow tiptoed through the empty house, floorboards creaking as she made her way through the hall and quietly entered the bedroom. There was a fuzzy lump under the covers, snoring softly without a care in the world.  **  
**

He looked so comfy! And maybe just a little bit chilly - she could see him shivering from here. She would have started a fire if she wasn’t craving for attention right now. Being wrapped up under blankets sounded soooo nice. Wilson looked like he could use some nice company, anyway!

Willow flopped into the empty space next to him, and he let out an alarmed squeak. “Oops! Did I wake you?”

He groaned and she took it as a yes. “Scoot over and gimme some covers! I’m cold.”

“Make a fire,” he grumbled, but opened his cocoon of blankets and welcomed her in anyway. Sheesh, he was hogging all of the warmth to himself! What a jerk.

“Too late! I’m here now and you can’t get rid of me that easily.” Willow snuggled into his side and filled in the empty spaces, skin against skin. She felt his arm tug at her waist, he wrapped her in a nice warm hug. Now she was feeling sleepy…

Hmmm. His fluffy head was tickling her face. She stroked the back of his head and brought his face to the curve of her neck, where he melted into the warmth of her body. This was nice, just the two of them cuddled up under the blanket with no night monster to shred their insides and hounds to eat them alive. Just them, in Wilson’s teeny quiet house in the middle of the woods.

At least he was enjoying her cuddles. Not that he had a choice, but he seemed to take pleasure in their entanglement and was no longer interested in kicking her out as he had previously suggested before.

Willow thought of so many horrible things all the time, and she couldn’t help it- but being with Wilson made those visions go away. He was some kind of bulwark against her nightmares, like a bigger, fluffier Bernie.

“Wilson?” She mumbled and rubbed his back, but he was unresponsive now. She wondered how long he spent trying to fall asleep in the cold, and how easy it was for him after she invited herself in. Geez, if he was cold, he should’ve just asked for a fire! Or a cuddle. But nooo, he’s stubborn and stupid and too shy to ask her for anything. Sometimes Willow wondered how he ever made any move on her at all.

His breath had slowed against her skin, and it felt just a little bit mesmerizing. She smoothed his hair back and kissed his forehead, and then the rest of his face, because he was asleep now and she’d tease him about it in the morning. He looked so peaceful now, like a sleeping baby.

Willow pulled the covers over their shoulders and pressed her face to his hair.

She yawned. “Love you.”


	12. when the moon falls, so will they

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> willow and wilson explore the moon.
> 
> things dont always flow so smoothly.

Days. It had been days since they had seen land, and now it was on the edge of Wilson’s fingertips, so close he could almost reach.

On their rickety wooden boat— it wasn’t a boat, really, it was more akin to a large raft— Willow had grown seasick. The waves lapped at their shoes and it seemed that they were never going to find what they were looking for, all wet with discomfort and their bellies growling with hunger. They both wore bathing suits to prevent the cold sea from tainting their normal clothes, but he knew that she hated even the slightest suggestion of a swim. He couldn’t blame her for being so cranky throughout the journey when she was so uncomfortable in an open and unfamiliar expanse. 

But finally, _finally_ , they had spotted what they were looking for, and they no longer had to continue suffering on their treacherous search across the ocean. 

They found the chunk that fell out of the moon and they were going to explore it.

“I can see trees,” Willow said with narrowed eyes, as if she were looking through a pair of binoculars meant to help her see clearer. Her tone held an air filled with both suspicion and awe. “What were trees doin’ on the moon?”

“I’m not sure,” he admitted, “but perhaps this will be our chance to find out why.” Wilson was eager to study what life inhabited the land, if any at all. What other plants were hiding, and what science and horrors awaited them from beyond? And most importantly: what answers?

He shifted the steering wheel towards a long strip of land that jutted nearest to them. As they approached, Willow began to lower the sails, slowing the boat down so that they could dock safely. She was staring even harder at the island now that they were much closer and everything was in clear view.

“Look, I can see glowy stuff on the ground! And carrots! Carrots grow here.”

“I know, I have eyes, too,” he reminded gently.

“C’mooooon, I wanna get off this stupid thing!” 

He huffed, understanding her impatience but at the same time wanting to be careful about docking their boat. He didn’t want to be temporarily stranded on this peculiar island, miles and miles from their camp, because Willow didn’t want to spare one second exploring.

_But he couldn’t blame her, either. Imagine all the science!_

As soon as the boat slowed to a stop, Wilson moved to drop the anchor. Willow was already on her way to hop off the boat. 

He panicked. “Wait! Don’t go yet!”

His call reached her ears, just barely, and he sighed in relief when she froze in place. 

“Why _not?_ ” Her foot was hovering over the land, ready to step.

Wilson blinked, trying to think of a good reason. What had made him worry so suddenly? Was it the difference in the air? The island had a dull, humming sound that made him feel unexpectedly wary. He shook his head; it was probably nothing.

“I…” he paused, thinking of an excuse before Willow could accuse him of what he suspected might be cowardice. “I want to take the first step with you.”

A light grin touched upon her face. “Okay, nerd.” 

He gathered his belongings and, with Willow’s hand slipping into his, they stepped onto the shore. Immediately, Wilson felt his head grow heavy as a wrenching pain throbbed in his temples. He nearly fell over from the sudden change in atmosphere. The seemingly peaceful moon biome was not as peaceful as it appeared.

And something was whispering to him, too. So very, very quietly. 

Wilson looked to Willow for any signs of the same reaction. Her eyes were glazed and her brows were furrowed; she also seemed to be in pain, but she was more tolerant (especially in hiding it). 

She squeezed his hand tightly. “I don’t recall this place being so blue and cold from the boat.”

“I—I agree,” he stuttered. It had seemed perfectly normal with no change in temperature or appearance until the very moment they had stepped off the boat.

Around them, he could see glimpses of moving air and falling white petals that blew from the strange and bulbous trees. He immediately forgot about his headache and moved to examine them closer, tugging Willow along with him. His curiosity had piqued once more. 

“This is unlike anything I’ve ever seen!” Wilson exclaimed. And he’d seen a _lot._ These plants were of celestial roots, and quite literally. 

“They’re pretty,” Willow admitted. “I almost don’t want to burn them.”

“We should take some of them back to study.”

She shrugged. “If you want.”

They wandered further inland, passing through the land with the wide, curious eyes of children. He took note of all of the new flora and fauna, grabbing what samples he could. 

Small fissures littered the area wherever they went, shooting out geysers of hot water into the air. The glowing that emanated from each fissure made Wilson confident that they wouldn’t be at much risk of the night monster tonight. If it could even reach them on this strange land, that is.

He stopped at a small spring, something that couldn’t be any larger than the frog ponds on the main island. What Wilson couldn’t ignore, however, wasn’t that the moon had a hot spring— but that there was a decayed corpse and a round ball nestled beside it. 

Willow grimaced. “Eww! How is there a body here?!”

Wilson shook his head, unable to think of a reason as to why there was already a skeleton on the island. This piece of the moon fell not too long ago, and he doubted anyone else could have sailed to it before them, just to suddenly wither and die. It did intrigue him, though: did people _live_ on the moon?

“Maybe people live on the moon.”

She shot him an unamused glare. “You’re kidding.”

“In this strange world, I assure you that I’m entirely serious.”

Willow scoffed. She nudged the object by the skeleton, its bony hand seemingly died trying to reach for it.

“Hey, mister so-called-scientist, take a look at this.”

She handed him the foreign item. Up close, he could see that it was a bunch of petals wrapped together in the shape of a ball, but it held some weight in his palm, suggesting that it may not be as useless as it appeared. If it’s what the deceased person on the ground was trying to reach for, then it had to be of some use. 

Wilson scratched his chin in thought. “It smells quite nice,” he said as he studied it. If he threw it into the spring, something could possibly occur. The water would be able to fish out whatever substance was inside the ball and reveal whatever science was hiding within. It was basic textbook chemistry. 

“It might be meant for this spring. I think the flowery scent is supposed to cover up the sickly sulfuric smell.”

She gave him a blank stare, not fully in belief. 

“It could even cause a chemical reaction.” He nudged her gently. “You like those, don’t you?” 

“Yeaaah,” she sighed. “But it better be enough to cover up that rotten egg stink.”

“If it does, I might be convinced to soak myself.”

Willow’s hazy eyes widened. “You wouldn’t!”

She continued when he wasn’t convinced. “Come on, this is like, weird moon magic! What if it hurts you? Geez, Wilson, this water looks like it could boil you alive anyway if the haunted voodoo water doesn’t kill you first.”

“It’s not like you to fret,” he mumbled softly and especially ignored her suggestion of magic. “Here, why don’t I throw it in and then you can test the water for me?”

The tiny frown she adopted didn’t disappear, but she nodded uncertainly. “Fine, but it’s not gonna stop me from avoiding a bath.”

A pity if they both wore their bathing suits for nothing, he thought to himself. 

Wilson peered at the object one last time before tossing it into the hot spring. Almost instantly, the ball dissolved and fizzled into nothingness and bubbles arose around the pool’s edges. The sweet smell hit them along with wafts of hot air, a pleasant feeling in comparison to the moon’s chill breeze.

“Now that looks much more inviting!” 

Willow knelt down and let her hand run through the bubbles. “It’s hot,” she said matter-of-factly. “Really hot. But I think you’ll be able to handle it.”

He began setting his things down when she grasped his hand suddenly. “Do you really wanna do this? We don’t know what else is out there. And I’m— I’m starting to hear things.”

“Are you afraid? I won’t do it if you are, but I need to soak my weary bones for just a second. My head’s killing me and I’m sure yours is as well.”

“No!” Willow shouted quickly in defense, as if he was accusing her of being weak. “No, duh. I just… want to see what’s out there.” He could see her fingers drumming against the lighter in her pocket. She was really eager to burn something. He could tell, especially if they were seeing, hearing, and feeling things. “But if you’ll be quick…”

“I’ll be quick, I promise.”

Wilson tentatively dipped a toe in. It was as hot as Willow claimed— not that she gave him any doubt— but she was right about it not being scalding. A few moments and he could grow used to it. 

Carefully, inch by inch, Wilson sunk down into the spring with a relieved sigh. His head was starting to feel better already. How long had it been since he’d had a nice hot bath?

“Happy now?” 

“Oh, yes,” he purred. “You’d like it.”

“You know I hate baths!”

“But you like the heat, don’t you?”

“Not when it’s water,” she hissed.

What would it take to convince this woman? 

He held his hand out. “I know the steam isn’t enough to warm you. Just sit with me for a moment. Please?” 

Willow looked at him with a mixed expression. There were so many emotions that he couldn’t tell what she was truly feeling. But after awhile of standing in thought, Willow moved to take off her backpack and Wilson felt himself smile.

“You’re lucky I like you,” she said, disgruntled as she took his hand and sat down at the pool’s edge, dipping her feet in. He didn’t mind if she refused to soak her entire body; at least she would find some relief in dipping a part of herself. And feeling the water herself would reassure her that the water wasn’t cursed with “moon magic”. 

“How does it feel?” He asked.

Willow swayed her legs back and forth, concentrating on the blue-green glow. “Not that bad, actually. But I’m still gonna keep an eye out. I don’t wanna end up like that poor guy.” She glanced awkwardly at the skeleton beside them. 

He closed his eyes for a moment and sank lower, low enough for the bubbling water to rise above his nose. He held his breath for a moment and washed away the fear and anxiety in his bones. Like all things in life, however, Wilson knew that this feeling would be temporary.

Opening his eyes, he saw Willow looking directly at him. At the unexpected eye contact, she blushed and looked away, but he wondered if the faint red on her cheeks was only part of the delusions that this place gave him.

“What is it?” He queried, rising above the water to speak.

“Nothing. You just look so peaceful, like there isn’t anything bothering you.”

He stared at her for a moment, wondering whether if he could personally agree or disagree with her. Truly, he didn’t know what he felt.

Wilson tried to focus on her face instead. While he had his eyes closed in quick meditation, she had tied up her pigtails into messy little buns. It was a cute look on her.

Slowly, Wilson moved across the short length of the hot spring to meet Willow on the opposite side. He grasped her leg and ran his palm down her calf soothingly. 

“I don’t want to lie to you,” he mumbled, moving to rest his face against her leg and closing his eyes once more. “I feel like this place is making me mad.”

He felt her hand cup his cheek. The soft stroke of her thumb against his jaw helped comfort him, if only slightly. 

“Me too.”

“I want to study it more, I admit. Who knows what secrets are out there. But at what cost…” He trailed off.

Willow gently tilted his chin upwards so that he could meet her gaze. It burned with uncertainty, fear, love, and something else he couldn’t quite place. The same blurriness that his own eyes must wield?

At the same time, Wilson could make out a barely visible drift of something move in the distance. Another trick of the light.

“Then we’ll do it fast. I’ve got my lighter so something better think twice about attacking us,” she smiled. 

Her pretty, assuring smile made him feel a whole lot better. He nodded, letting his forehead rest against her smooth skin again. This new island wasn’t anything they couldn’t handle together.

After a while of relaxing in the hot spring, Wilson yawned, already half-lulled to sleep from the water, and tapped Willow, who seemed to be lost in her thoughts. “Let’s keep going?”

She had this dazed and twisted look on her face, as if something had told her an unbelievable thing. But when he spoke to her, it snapped her out of that trance, and she nodded shakily. 

“Okay.”

Wilson pulled himself from the hot spring to collect his bearings. He heard Willow shuffle as she got up, and then her sharp gasp pierced the air.

“Willow?”

He turned around just in time to catch her; she’d lurched forward suddenly, almost falling into the spring, but Wilson managed to catch her just in time. 

He thought she had slipped at first until he noticed the look in her eyes again. Her eyelids were half closed and she was trembling as she clutched his wet clothes tightly. Something horrible had happened.

Wilson shook her gently. “Willow?! Are you okay? Can you hear me?” 

Fear tugged at his heart at the thought of something terrible happening to her, and he thought that she was truly wounded until she slowly looked up at him, dazed.

“It’s—“

Wilson felt something airy brush past his ear and his hair practically stood up on his neck. He wasn’t delusional after all. The thing he’d spotted earlier was real! 

Up close, Wilson could see now that it was no ordinary wind. It was a spirit of some sort that took up an odd shape. The whispers that came from it shook him to the core, the words replaying in his mind in a trance. He’d almost forgotten about Willow until her shaking figure brought him back to reality. 

“Did it hurt you?” He enunciated each word slowly and clearly at the half conscious woman in his arms. She pressed a finger at her chest repeatedly.

“It—It—It went through me,” Willow stammered in shock, her voice drawled and sleepy. 

He checked her bathing suit for any signs of blood stains but found none. That didn’t mean she couldn’t have received scratches, bruises or science forbid an internal injury, though, and in that case she would need to receive treatment.

Wilson knew from the sinking feeling in his gut that they needed to go back. It wasn’t safe here— not until he knew what was going on.

“I’m taking you back to the boat,” he urged. “Let’s go!” 

Supporting Willow with his shoulder and both of their packs on the other, Wilson led her back to their docked boat as fast as he could go. The floating wisps that danced through the air were clearer to him now, and with a heavy realization, Wilson realized that they were scattered all over the island. 

How did he not pay attention earlier? 

They stumbled over uneven moon terrain and thick wild roots in a rush to make it back to the boat before anything else could happen. Willow collapsed as she reached the boat, falling to her knees on the wooden boards with a thick cough, as if she had been held underwater. 

The atmosphere changed again and Wilson almost missed it entirely as he clung to Willow’s side and rubbed her back. 

There was no more sleepiness, no more freezing cold air, no more headaches and madness that could hurt them. Whatever this chunk of the moon was, Wilson knew, he _knew_ that someone or something had to be responsible for it. 

“Breathe, Willow, breathe,” he repeated. “Are you sure you’re not hurt?”

When she managed to calm down, she nodded. It seemed that getting off of the moon island had changed her, too. 

“I’m _fine_ , it just…” She rubbed the spot where the spirit dashed through her. “It caught me off guard. I felt like I was going to fall asleep that instant.”

“How peculiar,” he murmured to himself. He certainly felt the same bouts of sleepiness, but to experience that whispering thing fly through him, Wilson did not even want to imagine what it felt like. Even for the sake of study. 

He pitied Willow and felt guilt pricking at his fingertips. She didn’t even want to swim in the first place and now he’d done something stupid and risked her life as a result of his carelessness.

Wilson continued to rub her back as she rubbed the rest of the sleepiness from her eyes. He looked back to the island, his throat tightening as he thought about going back. 

He wouldn’t forget the clear whispers in his ear as the gestalt rushed past him. He couldn't. Not when it energized his thoughts with the promise of knowledge.

The moon was calling for him. 


	13. a sticky situation

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> based off an rp thing

It is a peaceful summer night, and Willow’s made melonsicles. 

Unintentionally, she’d gotten addicted to making cool yummy treats before bed— it could be so sweaty in her tent, even with the cold fire raging— and now she’s all caught up in the habit. Wilson, of course, supports this habit fully.

Willow always offers to share it with him since he stays up so late anyway. Tonight is a full moon, so she has the excuse to work as long as she wants while the heat of the sun is away. She presents a single melonsicle to him while he’s busy tinkering at his machine, waving it tauntingly around him. He flinches, feeling the waves of chill air from the ice hit his cheek, but then glances towards it in interest as if he were an alley cat being given a mouse.

“Is that for me?” 

She can tell he’s hungry. The man hasn’t stopped to take a break all night. She’d let him have the first bite, buuuut…

Willow smirks and sucks on the very tip of the melonsicle. It’s icy cold and perfect. “Chefs go first.” 

He puffs his cheeks frustratedly, playfully pretending to be hurt by her truthful remark as he turned back to face his work. “Why a popsicle this time?”

“It’s a _melonsicle_ ,” she waves it around for extra emphasis, showing off the piece of watermelon that’s encased in ice, “and I just felt like a change from ice cream.”

“But I liked the ice cream.”

“You’d like this one too! Here, try it.”

She offers him a taste and he examines the treat thoughtfully before giving it a couple shy licks. (They’re very much used to sharing food, and Willow’s definitely gotten over his cooties.) Still, it’s funny to see him so embarrassed. 

“It… tastes like ice,” Wilson blinks. “But with a weak hint of watermelon.”

“You have to _get_ to the watermelon,” she insists.

“And how many licks is that going to take?”

“Uhhh…” She pretends to think— truly, she doesn’t know— and gently snatches her hard work from him. “I dunno, but I don’t have time to answer your questions or this is gonna melt!”

He gives her a goofy smile that makes her stomach flutter. “Okay, then. Let me know when you’ve come out with new prototypes, hm?” 

Willow snorts. Already, she’s been licking away at her melonsicle. Wilson was right; it tasted like a whole lotta nothing, but that wasn’t gonna stop her from enjoying the best part in the middle. And it was helping her stay cool, anyway.

Frozen, she watches Wilson work from behind his shoulder as he fidgets with a small gadget in his hands. She begins to pause to ask him what in the world he was doing when suddenly she feels a small tug on her tongue.

Willow’s eyes widen slightly upon the realization that her tongue had gotten stuck to the ice while she had been watching him in concentration. Trying not to panic, she tries pulling away in different directions, but her tongue refuses to budge. 

Sensing her frustration behind him, Wilson calls out her name.

“Mmgh?” She hides her mouth behind the melonsicle, trying to disguise the fact that she was, much to her embarrassment, stuck to ice in the middle of the summer. 

“Willow, what’re you—“  Wilson gently takes the hand that’s holding the treat and moves it, taking her mouth along with it. “... _Ah._ ”

He can’t help but chuckle at her misery. Willow wants to stomp her foot and tell him to shut up but she can’t, and now her face was probably as red as the stupid melon. “How did this happen?” 

“I— It juth got thuck!” She says a bit too frantically for her liking. The ice starts to make the top of her tongue burn, but it’s too uncomfortable for her to find any joy in it. If it were up to her, she would have burned the entire popsicle away, stuck her lighter under her tongue, anything, but Wilson was already coming to her rescue.

He sounds hesitant and nervous. If he was going to remove her tongue from the ice with a science tool, she’d punch him. “May I try something?” 

Reluctantly, she nods her head and, to her surprise, watches in shock as he moves his face closer to her. Willow can feel his warm breath on her cheek as he starts licking away at the ice.

Willow feels rigid, her face flushes at their closeness. She can try and pull herself away, but the pressure only increases on her tongue. “What arh you dthoing?!”

The spot of ice beside her is no doubt wet, but she doesn’t feel any less stuck than she was five seconds ago.

Wilson doesn’t answer, not yet. Instead he continues to keep chipping away at the ice. She can feel her eyes practically roll at his silliness. _This_ is what he had in mind?

“ _Wilthon!”_

He inhales deeply through his nose, refusing to meet her in the eye. When he opens his mouth to respond to her, Wilson realizes that his tongue is stuck to the ice as well. Willow wants to facepalm. Now they’re both stuck to her melonsicle.

It’s his turn to try and pull away as panic sets in and Wilson realizes the absolute mess he’s gotten himself into, the awkward situation he’s put themselves in. 

She tries to focus her attention on anything else, eyes darting between here and the rest of their camp. The lighter idea still floats around in her mind, looking more appealing with each second. Her tongue wasn’t the only thing turning numb.

“I’ve got thith.” Willow flicks on her lighter and hovers the flame just below the melonsicle. 

Wilson tugs away again out of fear, but once he realizes what she’s doing, he starts to recompose himself with an almost uncertainty. 

As she’s working towards melting the ice— and the ice _is_ starting to melt now, she can feel the sticky water drip down the popsicle stick and onto her fingers— they both freeze when they hear a child’s amused giggle.

With a horrified expression, Willow sees that Wendy has been watching them with her hands cupped around her mouth. She whispers something to Abigail, who does a little gleeful twirl and giggle, and suddenly Willow feels like she’s mock on display. Of course the bereaved girl takes amusement in their sticky situation.

“Ithn’t it path your bedthime?” Wilson winces.

The girl shakes her head and Willow has a feeling that she’s been busy with… other plans.

Spying on miserable adults, though; now that’s just unfair. 

She sighs, face still burning with blush as she tries to ignore her curious audience. The ice can’t melt away fast enough.


	14. family issues

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this one's a request

Wilson’s house lacked a lot of family photos. That was one of the first things that Willow noticed when she moved in.

She hadn’t thought to question it until she was helping him move boxes out of her room one day. Too big and stuffy, they were quick to be relocated in another part of the house that Wilson would forget about once more.

The dusty box in her arms was heavy. She had assumed it was full of broken or unused equipment, until Willow had stepped wrong with her heel and the entire box and its contents came crashing down onto the floor. She had tried to catch the box as it fell but it was too late.

“Oh no!” She hissed, seeing shards of glass scatter across the floor. “Oh, jeez—“

“Don’t touch it!” Wilson said frantically, gripping her wrist in a gentle manner when she kneeled down to start picking up the mess she made. He was startled by the action, standing behind her with his own box, but was now able to compose himself with a few ragged breaths. “I’ll clean this up. Are you hurt?”

“No, I don’t think so.” She was quite pale herself. The last thing she was expecting was an explosion of _glass_ to come from that box! It was all her fault, anyway— the stupid things wouldn’t have broke if she knew how to walk properly.

Willow held her breath as Wilson went to fetch a dustpan from the closet. “I’m sorry, Wilson, I didn’t mean it.” 

“You didn’t do any harm. They’re just photographs, after all.”

Photographs? 

Willow hugged her knees as she carefully flipped over the fallen frames. The glass covering had obviously shattered so the pictures were easier to see without the thick layers of dust.

It was a family portrait, clearly. There was a man and a woman dressed in fancy old people clothes, and in front of them was a small boy in the same sort of attire. He had a grumpy pout on his face, one that Willow could recognize anywhere. And cute baby freckles to match... though, now didn't seem like the time to make fun of him.

As Wilson went to work next to her, sweeping small and large glass slivers into the dustpan, Willow tilted the photograph in his direction. “Are these funny lookin’ people your parents?” 

He paused in his work, stared at the photo, and frowned. “Yes, they are.” 

“How come you don’t hang these around the house?” His walls were empty and barren. Given how his lab was crawling in experiments and junk in every corner, he didn’t seem to be the kind of person to be minimalistic.

“Because I don’t need to.”

“Why not? They’re your family.”

“Because I don’t _want_ to,” he corrected. 

Willow fidgeted. “Oh.”

She forgot that families fought sometimes. Not that she could ever know.

He sighed when she stared at him expectantly. Wilson leaned back and sat on the floor beside her, doubly making sure that all the glass was in the pan before grabbing another fallen photograph. That one was another photo of himself and his father, and he seemed much older, as if it were a sort of graduation photo.

“Things are tense with my parents,” Wilson said.

Willow scooted next to him so that he could feel better about telling his story. Oh, and she wanted a better view at how nerdy Wilson looked when he was younger.

“They look rich,” Willow pointed out. The lady had a lot of fancy jewelry. It had to’ve been real because Wilson had talked about moving from England and going to different private schools. The thing about Wilson, though, was that he never flaunted his money. If she didn’t know him at all, she would’ve assumed he was incredibly poor like her, due to his poor maintenance in his house and in self care. (Of course, the latter had gotten extremely better after she started living with him.)

He nodded. “They simply don’t share my… passion for science. Thanksgivings were awkward, you should know. I stopped going.”

Willow was taken aback. “Jeez, what, were they _that_ judgemental?” 

Wilson chuckled at her reaction. It was like he had given up a long time ago at trying to create his parents’ image of a perfect son and was content to live his own life as he pleased. “More than you’d think. My father was quite alright with it, actually; it was Mother I had to convince just to let me go to graduate school.”

“Did they, uh. Did they ever cut you off?”

“Cut me off?” Wilson quizzed with a brow raised ever so slightly. “No, not like that. Not really. I can still see them and all, but money is harder to get now. I’m an independent, you know.”

Wilson had started neatly stacking the frames into the box. She plucked at the fabric of her skirt mindlessly, thinking about the unfairness of Wilson’s family. She didn’t need to be a genius to know that they didn’t approve of his experimentation and work. Now she knows why the house he bought was so rundown and old. Probably the only thing he could afford after leaving his country at eighteen. 

“They’re picky with what I do with my life,” he rambled on. “I believe they want me to marry rich and carry on the family name. It’s what Mother wants most, anyway.”

Willow scoffed. “No offense, Wilson, but your parents are nuts.”

He smiled slightly at that. “The apple doesn’t fall far from the tree.”

“ _You’re_ not nuts. That’s not what I meant, idiot!” She laughed and gave him a gentle slap on the shoulder, to which he grinned in response to her adorable silliness. 

“Suuuure.”

 _“Wilson!”_  

They continued to exchange teases and lighthearted words as Wilson lifted the box and moved the rest of his old belongings. 

His house is still empty and barren after that, but it won’t be for much longer. She hopes that, soon, they can hang up photos of themselves instead. 


	15. baby

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> another request

By now, the round curve of Willow’s belly is noticeable, and every survivor must surely know about the baby she’s expecting.

Some of them congratulate him on being a father, or some of them say nothing at all. Some of them make comments about it, like Wickerbottom, who’s already scolded them about it but still guides Willow along the way.

He’s unsure about how having a newborn will change things, and is very nervous about their baby’s arrival. Willow is, too, but she tries to comfort him by assuring that they’ll have many protectors amongst the camp. Wilson can only hope that she’s right. 

Even as she sleeps peacefully beside him, he can’t help but be worried about her and the baby. Death rings in his head, he knows it’s never-ending, and the Constant is merciless.

Wilson’s hand rubs along her belly, a soothing motion that always lulled Willow to sleep. He feels a gentle flutter of movement, soft kicks that respond immediately to his touch, and he can’t help the sad smile that tugs along his lips.

“Hello there,” he mumbles softly. More movement at the sound of his voice, which means more comforting rubs to Willow’s stomach. 

She stirs quietly in her sleep, taking long, deep breaths as her hand moves up to caress his cheek. His hand leaves her round middle to take her palm in his own, lightly kissing her knuckles in wholehearted affection. 

He shifts within the bedroll so that he’s in more of a comfortable position to hug her from behind. There’s a sleepy, content smile on her face as he moves to kiss the sensitive skin of her neck, a warm crook which also threatens to lull him to sleep. 

Wilson sighs, feeling himself relax in her arms within the bounds of their tent. He should stop worrying about the many dangers that threaten his family when there was little he could do. 

Today and for now, he is alive, and so is Willow, and so is their child. Safe.


	16. unlucky one

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> There's a new cat in town.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I failed to proofread this one, so sorry for any errors

For as long as Willow has been in the wretched world of the Constant, she feels like she has truly seen everything. 

From one-eyed monsters to undead pengulls, giant cat-bugs to the strangest but cutest of critters, and to her best friend leaving and becoming the new king, she has grown unphased as to what else this world has to offer. Time no longer feels real, but Willow only knows that, eventually, it comes and goes with the changing of the seasons. And even the seasons fluctuate from time to time, so truly, she’s lost her grasp on the concept of everything manmade.

Her camp is small, homey. Two tents reside near a central fire pit, one of which is scuffed and ragged from abandonment. The other tent is Wilson’s.

Their relationship is confusing. So many thoughts and words lay unspoken on her tongue, and every time he appears for his nightly visits, her throat closes up and she can’t find the strength to speak what’s actually on her mind, to be candid. At least, not to _him._

On one insignificant day, the visits stop. Time stops, even though the season keeps going, and Willow doesn’t have the heart to keep track of how many days it’s been since. She can’t say she’s surprised— her best friend, corrupted by all the power that’s gone to his head, has always been an arrogant asshole. 

But what manages to surprise her most of all is something seemingly out of the ordinary; not another monster that towers high above the clouds, nor a hound mother with a bloodthirsty pack, but a slender black cat that brushes against Willow’s leg while she’s busy tending to the fire.

It surprises her out of nowhere. It would’ve made anyone jump, having some animal brush against their leg while they were in the middle of something! Especially since it _wasn’t_ her animal, and _especially_ since it wasn’t an animal that could be found in the Constant. Growing up in busy city streets, Willow was familiar with the hungry alley cats that visited from time to time. She knew what it was like to be hungry, and left them small portions of what food she could scrape together. The kitty cat that paid her a visit tonight was all too ordinary. Just like those alley cats, who always approached at the sight of her.

“Hi there,” she greets, crouching down to let the cat sniff her hand. The cat, with fur as black as the night itself, moves its head to rub against her palm with a satisfactory purr. For once, she’s glad her hands are always warm, and that the animal who decided to visit isn’t a smelly dog or a bird that wants to attack her.

Perhaps this was another strange variation of catcoon, or… one of its kittykits? No, Willow didn’t keep critters. But this animal seemed fully grown— definitely not the size of a hybrid catcoon— and had neatly groomed long fur. Its tail dances like black fire as she offers gentle scritches to its ear and chin.

“You’re awfully cute. Are you lost, little guy?” She tilts her head and mimics the cat’s wide, curious eyes. “My camp’s not the greatest, but you can stay the night if you want.” 

A quiet meow in response, which Willow accepts as a word of agreement. As soon as she finishes preparing a nice big fire, she takes out some spare meat for the animal. She offers it in small bits, but to her surprise, the feline isn’t interested.

“Okay then. Suit yourself.”

Another meow. The cat moves to sit in the border where light touched shadow as she watches the roaring flames, occasionally licking its paw and dragging it over a messy tuft of fur along its ear. It's very cute. Willow tries to imagine what a perfect lap warmer it would be, but a tiny voice in her head suggests that it could be something else entirely. 

She never believed that black cats were a sign of bad luck. So maybe, just maybe, it was meant to deliver a message of some sorts. Or maybe she ate too many mushrooms and is slowly losing her mind. 

“What do you want?” She asks as it sits patiently with her. Although she’s facing away, she can still feel its piercing stare. “I know you can’t be cold. It’s not winter yet.” 

It blinks slowly, tail flicking to and fro as if entertained by her curiosity. Of course, it can’t talk back to her or give her the answers she needs, so she’s only humoring herself. 

Willow beckons for it to come towards her again, but finds that suddenly, the cat is gone, and only darkness settles in the place where it once sat. 

“What the…”

Drats! She couldn’t have scared it off, she wasn’t doing anything! It must have gotten bored of watching her play with the fire and went to go tangle with trouble, as all stray kitties did. But, still… she liked this one. It was different.

Willow sighs to herself, and watches the fire burn itself out.

* * *

The next time she sees the black cat, it’s on the night of a new moon, when the Constant is at its darkest. Willow’s fire is as bright as ever in order to push the shadows away. 

This time, Willow is tinkering with her lighter, making small adjustments here and there. She’s trying to figure out a way to change the color of the flame, but is having trouble putting the right things together. If Wilson was here, he would have known what to do, and it’s what pisses her off the most.

And every so often, she’ll tear up in frustration.

She’s smart— street smart— but not enough to tinker with gadgets. That wasn’t her thing, and the amused meow that comes from the darkness affirms it. 

She blinks twice at it to make sure she’s not imagining a wispy shadow coming to harm her. No, it’s just the cat, coming up to her to sniff at her lighter on the ground. It makes a strange face, and hisses at it when the lighter accidentally turns on. 

“Are you here just to make fun of me? That’s awfully rude,” she huffs. “This stuff isn’t my specialty.”

Willow gives up trying to change it. Rainbow fire would be cool, but it wasn’t necessary for her survival. Still, it would’ve comforted her to accomplish something like this for once. 

Her hands reach down to grab her lighter, and to her disbelief, she finds that it is no longer there. It makes her heart skip a beat, the feeling of betrayal rushing through her. When she looks up, she sees her childhood treasure hanging from the cat’s jaws as it stares at her from the borders of her camp.

“Hey! Drop it! _Drop it!_ ” She yells and makes her way towards it, but the animal hisses and darts off into the shadows. There is no torch for her to chase after it with, so to her dismay, Willow is forced to stay within the light of her fire. 

“You stupid jerk! Give it _BACK._ ” She can cry into the pitch black abyss as much as she wants, but she knows that it would change nothing. Her lighter is as good as gone.

Willow grits her teeth, balls her fists, and slams them into the nearest alchemy engine.

* * *

Broken-hearted, she retired to bed early. Kept awake with thoughts of disappointment, confusion, and loss, it was inevitable for her to toss and turn all night. Even Wilson’s blue sweater, which she had moved into her tent after he had gone away, was unable to lull her to sleep despite its comforting touch and scent. 

In the midst of her troubled state, Willow feels something nudge her foot. It’s enough to startle her, and as she leans up to get a closer look at whatever touched her, she sees the cat and its bright eyes peeking up at her. Hanging from its mouth is none other than Willow’s lighter.

She scoffs, a soft and tired sound. “Why’d you come back, huh?”

It moves forward, stepping carefully through her mess of blankets, and drops the lighter by her shoulder. 

Willow continues, still hurt and betrayed. “I don’t want you back.” 

Promptly ignoring her, the kitty lies down and curls up next to her, its smooth body pressing against her chest and the crook of her neck. The long hair tickles her neck, but she can’t find it in herself to kick the cat out. She’s too stubborn for that, anyway.

When the lighter is back in her grasp, many questions run through her head. Even more questions appear when she lifts the crank and finds that the flame on her lighter is no longer yellow, but purple. Its gentle glow fills the tent, highlighting her shocked features. 

She looks back down to the cat, whose flank now softly rises up and down in sleep. The quiet purr that rumbles in its throat is enough to lull her to sleep, and Willow gets one of the best good-night rests she’s ever gotten since she became alone.

And when she wakes up the next morning to find a sleeping triumphant king in her arms, she knows that it had never been a dream.


	17. hangover

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> more prompts from tumblr !

“Hey, sleepy. You’re not dead, are you?”

Someone was grabbing him by his shoulders and shaking him. After an unpleasant night, Wilson wanted nothing more than to just curl back under the covers. Although his eyes were clenched shut, he could still sense the harsh crack of light spilling into the tent, infuriating his headache.

He let out some kind of pained and disgruntled noise, to which Willow, whose voice and touch he recognized well, let go of him and let him plop back onto the covers. Dizzy. He was very dizzy.

“Nope. Not dead.”

“Why would I be dead?” Wilson muttered grumpily.

She crouched beside him, brushing stray hairs away from his sticky forehead. Normally he’d enjoy the warmth from her touch, but he was burning up a fever and naturally moved to turn his head away. 

Willow frowned. “You’ve been asleep for a  _ very  _ long time. And—you know— after you drank yourself gallons last night, I thought you wouldn’t be able to handle all of it. I was right!” 

He peeked open his eyes, slowly, as to not hurt himself even more from the light’s glare. But to his discovery Willow had been blocking the entry, making the light surround her like some sort of angel with a halo. Funny, that.

Truthfully, he didn’t remember any of the last few hours. Wilson didn’t even consider himself to be a lightweight, so how much _did_ he drink? Why?

He asked Willow this.

“I dunno, a whole lot? Look, you wouldn’t even let me have a sip,” she huffed. “Some scientist you are.”

“I… don’t… ” he stared at her innocent face, trying to recall what happened. It must have been some experiment gone awry. Having been able to discover a way to ferment alcohol, he must have lost control of himself, as one sometimes does when in the intense pursuit of science. Did he refuse to share because of that pursuit?

He waved her away. “You can have the rest of it.”

She stared at him with envy. “You drank all of it, stupid.”

“Ah.” 

Another groan, this time out of frustration at his own foolishness and stupidity, and Wilson turned to bury his face in his bunny-furred pillow. 

“How could I have been so reckless?” He whined, voice muffled. “Does anyone else know?”

“Everyone knows.”

So he’s the laughing stock of the camp right now. “Perfect.”

She giggled, light and flutey. “Yeah, you were hilarious. Miss Wickerbottom’s not gonna let you make alcohol anymore, but promise you’ll sneak some for me?”

“Mm… yes, sure, anything for you, Willow.” Wilson rubbed his throbbing forehead at the same time she harshly patted his back in excitement. All of these overwhelming sensations were getting to him.

“I’ll get you some water. But first, pinky promise?” 

Eyes still closed and cheek pressed up against his pillow, he sought for her hand, a soft thing that rubbed and gently squeezed his own before entwining their pinkies together. Then there was the gentle and airy feeling of a kiss upon his face, which brought on an unwanted blush. 

Willow tsked.

“By the way, you snore in your sleep.”


	18. breaking the rules

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Willow and Wilson have a carrat race off.

Despite their differences, the firestarter and the scientist are both competitive by nature, and display it in their own creative way. 

When the people of the Constant introduce the concept of carrat racing, Willow and Wilson are more than psyched— after all, what else was there to do on an island for entertainment?

Willow really likes the squirming guys. Her own carrat has round red ears and a matching tail, her most favorite color, while Wilson’s carrat is blue. He sticks his tongue out as he trains his little pet at the endurance gym, hand tapping at his chin in deep thought, probably thinking of some kind of winning game plan.

The thing is, he’s doing it for nothing. Because she _knows_ that she’s gonna win. 

Her carrat is much more superior. She jumps higher and runs faster. What’s Wilson’s gonna do? Spit out chemical equations and bore the other competitors to death?

While he’s busy concentrating, Willow sneaks up from behind and wraps her arms around him. He jumps slightly, not expecting her hug, but moves to lay a hand on top of hers as he glances at her questionably. 

“You’re wasting your time,” she hums. “I know mine’s already got yours beat just by looking at it.”

Wilson scoffs playfully, and turns so that he can cup her cheek. Makes her look up at him, their faces real close together. “This little carrat has a few tricks up his sleeve.”

“Oh, really?”

His eyes narrow. “You’re not afraid of losing, are you?”

“Pfft! Not at all!” Willow grins and gently squeezes his hand, quickly giving the back of it a kiss. 

“Just you wait and see; your carrat’s gonna get _burned._ ”

* * *

In the late afternoon, the two of them line their carrats by the starting point as a sort of practice-yet-very-much-serious competition. Hours of training had given them the confidence to beat one another. Their windy and elaborate race course is filled with tall grass and booby traps alike, just to make things a bit interesting.

Willow’s was going to blow his out of the water for sure. She was betting on it. 

“Are you ready?” She asks her carrat, who replies with a squeak and the twitch of her little ratty whiskers. Then turning to Wilson, she adds, “What about you?”

It looked like he was giving his carrat some kind of pre-race pep talk. He nodded his head. “I’m ready.”

Then with a countdown from three to one, they let their racers zoom through the course. Loud cheers come from her and Wilson, and Willow cheers in joy when her carrat reaches the first checkpoint, lighting the area in a pink glow. They were already off to a great start.

“You might wanna rethink your bets!” She yells, running alongside her animal on the other side of the wall. 

Willow is so caught up in her carrat taking the winning lead, though, that she misses when Wilson suddenly climbs over the wall that lines up their racing track and runs to go pick up his lagging carrat. 

She gasps sharply: “HEY! You cheater!” 

It’s too late for her to even catch up now, because by the time she hops over the wall to pick up her own carrat, Wilson’s made strides towards the finish point. Then he places the carrat down and has a stupidly big grin on his face that she desperately wants to wipe away.

Willow laughs really hard as she drops her carrat besides his and covers him in an endless amount of slaps. “You’re SUCH a cheater! All bets are off!”

“No no, they’re still on! Whoever touched the finish point first gets to… you know!” He nearly strains himself by laughing hysterically, shielding his hands in front of him to block Willow’s hits. Her face hurts from smiling, but that was so not fair.

“I didn’t think that Wilson P. Higgsbury was a dirty rule breaker, geez!”

He hums to himself as he picks up the little red pouch that his victorious carrat is holding up expectantly and pushes the baggy into her palm. It’s his turn to smother her in a hug, and Willow can’t resist giving giggly kisses to his face.

“I’m _not_ sorry,” he returns a kiss to her forehead. “I’m actually quite eager to see what you’ll end up doing tonight.”

Her face becomes as red as her carrat. 

“Oh, shut up! I want a rematch!”


	19. stomach

One of Willow’s greatest skills was convincing Wilson to take a break from science. 

He didn’t do it often, if ever at all, so coming up with ideas for getting him to simply  _ rest  _ had been a high priority. Especially when he always refused to put down his gloves and beakers after many moons of work. 

And then she discovered that he really, really liked to cuddle. Wrapping her arms around his torso mid-experiment and coercing him to bed with her was a skill that she honed and perfected to a tee. (Who’s the real scientist for conditioning who now?)

Willow is certainly happy with the pay off. Sleepy from a constant two straight days of work, Wilson is content to bury his face in her neck and rub his scarred hand along the smooth dips and curves of her skin. 

A break, she told him, is what this was. A short break that would lead him to falling asleep, as per her plan. It soothed her as well. She liked the gentle rise and fall of his chest against hers, his cozy body underneath the blankets.

As Wilson kissed trails from her jaw to her shoulder, she closed her eyes and leaned into his touch. His hand rested at her stomach, gently rubbing her with the flat of his thumb, and she knows that he’s deep in thought when his breathing starts to slow down. 

“What is it?” She whispered.

He exhales deeply, the air tickling her skin, slow, hesitant.

“Willow… do you ever think about having kids?”


End file.
